


sometimes it's both

by fiverivers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 6x11, Angst, Bellarke Bingo, Canon Universe, F/M, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, The Anomaly - Freeform, season 6, speculative fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 12:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiverivers/pseuds/fiverivers
Summary: It hadn’t taken more than ten minutes near the Anomaly for Clarke to lose her fucking mind and split off from the group in terror, Bellamy calling wildly after her.





	sometimes it's both

**Author's Note:**

> I don't love this but I'm trying to be more positive about my writing and less self-critical and post things without over-scrutinizing them. So xxx hope you enjoy :-)

“We can make it back to Sanctum by daybreak but we’ll have to pass close to the Anomaly.” Gabriel lays out a hand drawn map on the table, points a line clean through from where they are and towards the compound. “It’ll be dangerous. The Anomaly will mess with your heads.”

“He’s right,” Octavia stands next to Gabriel, her arms crossed over her chest. “Your deepest desires and your darkest fears.” She sounds like she’s parroting something that’s been said to her. “But it’s the fastest route.”

Octavia studies Bellamy, waits for his approval—for any sort of reaction. He avoids her gaze but that doesn’t deter her at all. She sets her jaw, determination blazing in her eyes. Clarke’s heart aches for her—remembers how hollow she felt before Bellamy gave her absolution.

Gabriel glances up then, in the silence, unintentionally meets Clarke’s eye and looks away.

He can’t look at Clarke directly. It was only an hour at best, but he’s only ever known Clarke as Josephine and every time he catches her eye, he looks like he’s going to fall apart—like some piece of his soul has withered to nothing.

Clarke thinks back on Josephine’s memories, Gabriel was her humanity. The best part of her. And Gabriel—he conquered death for Josephine. She can’t imagine how it is to love somebody like that and have it returned.

Her thoughts turn to Bellamy again, at her side, close enough to touch. _She_ conquered death for him. To come back to him. She can still hear his pleas echoing in her head. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for him.

She’s known that for a long time but thinking it now—she’s exhuming something she thought was long dead. Cutting it to pieces and patching it back up into a miserable, freak imitation. Trying to breathe life into something that should’ve stayed dead (was never really dead). That she never deserved.

An ugly metaphor for love.

The mere thought of the word sends a horrified chill up her spine, leaves her tense and nauseous. Her love is poison. It infects and it butchers. She can’t do that to him. She won’t.

She doesn’t realize she’s trembling until Bellamy’s arms have enveloped her and he’s pulling her against his chest, steadying her.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He searches her face, concerned. She wills her frantic heart to still before it bursts out of her chest. 

_I’m in love with you._

“I’m fine,” she says instead. She smiles tightly, trying to reassure him when he lets her go reluctantly. “We should get going.”

* * *

 _Deepest desires and darkest fears_. Octavia wasn’t lying when she said that.

Clarke sees Wells, with a knife lodged deep in the side of his neck, stumbling towards her.

“This isn’t real.” She stutters out, staggers back. Bellamy, walking behind her, anchors her in his arms, squints in the dark as if he can see and slay her demons for her.

But he can’t and they continue marching towards her.

Wells stares—dead sunken eyes accusing and angry. It’s too much. There has been so much tragedy in her life, and she’s spent years compartmentalizing and tucking her pain away. Wells is a piece of her she doesn’t think she can ever confront, and now he’s stumbling closer and closer and his eyes promise a reckoning.

“Clarke,” He turns her in his arms, tries to divert her attention from what’s haunting her. “Look at me.” He brushes her hair from his eyes, forces her to focus on him. “Whatever you see isn’t real.”

Bellamy’s efforts to calm her fall on deaf ears, she can feel Wells behind her, hear the crunching of the leaves as he inches closer and closer. She wretches herself from his arms and takes off. 

It hadn’t taken more than ten minutes near the Anomaly for Clarke to lose her fucking mind and split off from the group in terror, Bellamy calling wildly after her.

* * *

 _This isn’t real_. Clarke isn’t even sure if this is the Anomaly or if having two minds in one head has taken a permanent toll. It’s probably both.

What she sees, what she’s facing, is a nightmare—she knows that much.

Everyone she has ever loved is hurting or dead and it’s because of her. They cry, they rage, they beg, and then she kills them.

“This isn’t real… This isn’t real…” She repeats to herself. She’s losing her sense of self, her grip on reality.

She’s sitting on the forest floor, her mother’s vacant eyes stare up at her, her neck twisted at an ungodly angle. _I did that_ , Clarke anguishes. Clarke pulls Abby’s head in her lap. She kisses her forehead, apologizing repeatedly under her breath.

She can’t stop hurting them. She sees them and a sinister feeling consumes her and she’s suddenly trapped in her own head, her body going through the motions. She slashes, she chokes, she stabs.

 _This isn’t real._ She reminds herself again but the words have little meaning—not when the blood is cold and tacky on her hands and she can taste it in the back of her throat.

She breathes in and opens her eyes slowly. Her heart lodges in her throat. A familiar figure stands before her.

 _Bellamy_.

Relief courses through her veins and she staggers to her feet and stumbles towards him, sobs out his name. “The Anomaly…. I can’t…” She’s not making sense, she knows that. But he knows her and he’ll ease her heart like he always does when she is heavy and hurting. 

Just as she reaches him, the ugly feeling rises from deep in her belly again and Clarke recoils in horror. “No, no, no, no…” She can feel the darkness in her bones. Her legs move towards him as though she is possessed.

“Not Bellamy, please.” She pleads to the empty forest to no avail. She steps to him, desperately trying to swallow down the cold, dead feeling. Fights it with everything she has in her. He stares through her, unnervingly still.

She holds her breath as the unsettling rage dwindles. She lifts a shaking hand, touches his cheek.

Very suddenly, the sinister feeling consumes her—and she shoves a knife she didn’t know she had into his chest. The blood darkens his shirt and he falls to the ground with a heavy thud, his head cracking open against a rock.

Clarke screams herself hoarse, collapses on the ground. She’s disoriented, numb. Stares at his body for an eternity—as it decomposes and rots and turns to dust.

“Clarke…?” Her blood runs cold and whips her head around wildly. She sees Bellamy approaching her cautiously. She whimpers, presses her head into her hands. _Not again_.

The madness threatens to choke her and she tries desperately to swallow it down. She can’t. It’s soaked into her bones.

“You’re not real.” 

He inches closer slowly, speaks softly. “I am real, Clarke.”

She can feel it in her soul. All she wants is carnage and she can’t fight it. The violence is drowning her, promising to take him with it. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper.

“You won’t.” 

“I _will_.” She insists feebly. “I hurt people. It’s what I do.” As he moves nearer, the madness deepens, intensifies. Threatens to consume her. She turns on her heels to run. 

She’s barely on her feet when Bellamy catches her, wraps his fingers around her wrist, pulls her back down to the ground and holds her in place.

“Let me go!” She sobs, jerking her arm. She can’t kill him. Not again. She can still see his empty gaze, feel the hollow ache in her chest. Losing him will turn her to dust. There’ll be nothing left of her. No flesh, no bones.

She reaches down into her boot with her free hand. She means to slit her own throat but Bellamy is faster than her—slaps away the knife she pulls out and pulls her against his chest. 

Her veins are thrumming with suppressed rage that isn’t _hers_ —that begs for his blood. She struggles violently in his arms, needs to be away from him. “I left you to die,” Her voice coloured with regret, she shuts her eyes tight when she can’t escape his grip. She doesn’t want to look at Bellamy when she feels like this—when her mind is only chaos and destruction.

When she finally stills, Bellamy pulls her closer yet, places his hand on her cheek. She leans into it.

“I forgave you, Clarke.” Her nerves are a livewire—she can feel his thumb stroking her cheekbone. It centers her.

Clarke opens her eyes slowly, it takes time for the world to refocus. He presses his forehead against hers, asks her to breathe with him. “I’ll always forgive you.”

It’s different now—her veins are still thrumming hot but it’s a pleasant burn and the cold hand clamped tight on her heart is gone. She’s whole. She’s safe. Bellamy is not her demon anymore.

Clarke reaches forward with a trembling hand, touches his wrist on her cheek. Something blossoms and glows bright and colourful in her chest.

“I love you.” The words spill out desperately. It’s not fair to him but she needs him to know—needs to unburden her heart.

“I’m in love with you,” she clarifies, presses her hand to his chest, can feel his heart stuttering under her palm. It’s freedom and relief to say it aloud—to tell him.

“You’re confused.” He doesn’t move, his forehead still pressed against hers. “You’re tired, delirious. You’re hallucinating.” He’s rambling.

She tilts her head, pressing impossibly closer. She brushes her lips against his, kisses him quiet. It's wrong and selfish but Clarke is still half out of her mind in horror, can still see his dead eyes when she plunged a knife in his chest.

Abruptly, her sanity returns— _this is real._ It's like being doused in cold water. She flinches back in terror. She’s ruined everything.

Bellamy doesn’t let her get far, seizes her wrist and freezes her in place. Her heart is racing in her chest. His face is indecipherable.

Clarke’s breath falters and she looks away. His stare is paralyzing. He pulls them both to their feet.

He’s silent for a long moment. He’s confused, conflicted. He doesn’t have the right words. “Look at me, Clarke.” His voice breaks on her name and Clarke searches his face—his gaze is raw, intense, disbelieving. The world shrinks. There’s only them—and Clarke _knows_.

“I need you.” He meets her eyes for a moment before looking away guiltily—a thousand things keeping them apart.

He intertwines their fingers. “Don’t run away from me this time.” His tone is light.

It puts Clarke at ease. She glances at their interlocked hands, squeezes tight. “Never again.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've participated in any sort of fandom activity ([bellarke bingo](http://bellarkebingo.tumblr.com/)). I used the prompts: love confessions & mutual pining (it's kind of vaguely implied but it's there!).
> 
> Also pretty sure 6x11 dropped on the East coast but i'm on the West coast so this is still technically speculative!


End file.
